Pick Your Poison
by heyshalina
Summary: And after all of this mess, after all the death and corruption, the marvelous Mockingjay still lives, huh? Great work. And you're happy? Please. You just keep losing and losing. Now the dead, we're the ones winning. Written for Starvation.


**Back with another one-shot for the Starvation Forum Monthly One-shot Challenge. I'm starting to really enjoy these. By the way, if you want to take part in this contest, just hop over to the Starvation forum. It's really fun. So, I decided it was about time I did a story about Foxface. I hope I got her right...although she could be interpreted so many different ways it is not even funny. So, I hope you enjoy! Read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, and I do not own Foxface. Not one little bit.**

_**Prompt: "What don't you understand? I won."**_

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><p><strong>Pick Your Poison<strong>

Oh, my dear Mockingjay. So you've finally come. I had been afraid that you would never come to your senses. Of course, they made me come to greet you. Me, of all people! I still yearn for the days where I could have killed you, little bird. This would have been much easier, if you had just died. But, then I wouldn't be here, would I? And you wouldn't be living. And the world wouldn't be spared of the horrible Games. Snow wouldn't be dead, and kids would be dying by the bundles. Panem is all happy and safe now, eh? And you think that this is because of you? You silly, misled little girl.

What did you gain from this, Katniss? What did you win from saving the world? An unstable boyfriend? An abandoned, disconnected old angered friend? A destroyed home? A dead sister?

Nothing, Katniss. You've won nothing.

I, on the other hand, have enjoyed life very much. Or should I say, I have enjoyed _death_ very much. No need for that look, little Mockingjay. It is not as horrible as one might imagine. Yes, it may be terrifying. It may be horrible at first. But, dear girl, so is life. And yet we never remember being born, and if you do, color me impressed. Just like I do not remember dying. Not anymore. I can recall life, bring up memories and horrible flashbacks of what once was and what could have been, but no longer can I summon the pain that came with each small, dark berry that entered my body. Nor would I wish to. Why would I, Mockingjay? Just like you do not wish to muster the sorrow of singing to Rue as she died, or the horrible ache of watching your little duck burn in the flames of the one person you wanted to trust, and betrayed you.

Do you not get it? You just lose and lose and lose.

I remember what you called me. Such funny things what enter our minds when we assume, no? I laugh every time I even think about it. _Foxface_. Such a simple nickname for such a troubled, complex person. But I've always had the best of luck. Keep a clear head in life; keep your sanity in death. Weasel your way out of the most horrible punishments, but still are not privileged enough to be granted the most wonderful gifts of the afterlife. I'm an in-between, miss Katniss. If you were wise, you would come in join this group of the dead. Because we? We just win and win and win.

Our whole lives were one big game. When I look between us, Katniss, well I do believe I've won the match.

Don't you dare be confused, miss "High and Mighty". I cannot understand your befuddlement. What do you not get about it? I _won_. Of course, your ignorance keeps you from believing this could be true. Surely death cannot be a reward? Surely dying is not a victory? You seem to forget that you live in Panem, Katniss. Every little thing is either a loss, or a victory. For the bread, and the circuses. You strike a good deal in the market. Victory. Your arrow misses its mark. Loss. Well, death is just a victory over life.

Victory is all that matters to us tributes, after all.

I recall my death ever so vividly. You shall, too, when you finally come. Your petty little boyfriend was lumbering around the forest as loudly as Cato on a rampage. Not that I mean to offend him, of course, because quite frankly I am much more fond of Peeta than you. He left the food out, and it was so tempting. Temptation. The one thing that handed me my demise on a silver platter. I was so confident, so sure of myself. As silent as a fox, quite ironically, I swept up eight berries and one chunk of cheese, scampering back into the bush in which I was hiding. I let the cheese melt in my mouth, savoring the flavor. I had not tasted such a delicacy in days. I was going to save the berries for later, but decided against it. Temptation, my dear Katniss. Temptation.

I hope you are taking notes.

The first berry I popped into my mouth quite dramatically, throwing it just above my nose before catching it with my teeth and crunching it with my canine. I paid no mind to the bitter taste, but instead stuffed the second berry down my throat. Then the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. The seventh I accidentally smashed with my fingers, but licked the juice off of my individual digits without a second thought. With my keen ears I became aware of you, Katniss, crashing into the clearing before me. I stood swiftly, swallowing the last berry in haste. Horrible thoughts ran through my head. I took my knife, thinking that maybe if I surprised you, I could take your blood, and then Peeta's just as quickly. Two tributes out of the way, just like that. Just like that, I could have had a fifty percent chance of returning to my home.

Just like that, my throat closed, and my heart stopped. You know what happened next better than myself. Just like that, my thoughts transformed from those of murder to those of death. _Death_. The only thing I could bring my mind to think was that I had lost. I had lost the Hunger Games. I had lost life. I could not have been any more wrong. I wouldn't see the Capitol again. I wouldn't see District Five again. I would not see my family again.

They all died, anyway.

You have murdered, Katniss. We are monsters, and there is no denying this fact. We do not go on the path through the forest that I see many children wandering into. I believe that leads to somewhere nice. If it makes you feel any better, I witnessed your sister walking into the trees. The birds chirped happily as she passed. She was the only one who seemed ready, and she was the only one who saw me lurking in front of the oak trees which I was not allowed to pass. She only smiled at me and spoke my name before disappearing into the flowering foliage. We in-betweens wander in the scarcely wooded mountains between the forest of flowers and the desert of despair, as my little brother calls the unfamiliar territories. Not that I want to venture into any of the other options. I am perfectly content running through the mountain range, conversing shortly with the likes of Thresh and past tributes. I am sure that I have achieved victory only because of the knowledge that I possess that I would be miserable if I were alive.

So I must ask you, Mockingjay. Are you ready to win?

What is the beauty of the Mockingjay? What is the use of its beautiful sound amongst ruins, if there is already enough hope to be had? You are not of use anymore, Katniss. It is time to heed my words, and listen to your gut. It's gotten you this far, now hasn't it? After losing so much, you must be aching to gain something. Yet you are still ignorant. Ignorance is bliss, they say. We both know that you are anything but blissful.

What do you not understand, Katniss? I won. Rue won. Thresh won. _Primrose_ won. We have won the game. We have rested in peace, and won the game of death. Do you not believe that it is your time too? You can come and run through the trees, hunt as much as you please, and sing at the zenith of the mountains as you look at the view. The pain never goes away, but it ebbs. And this is better than nothing.

It's time to die, Katniss. So prepare yourself for the ride. Go ahead and pick your poison. I am sure he has many atop his rose-smelling, untouched shelves.

Or maybe you could just gather some berries.


End file.
